


A Mother's Wrath (A Sister's Sorrow)

by sourassin (scherryzade)



Series: Dwarrowdams [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arkenstone hate, Durin Family Angst, Durin Feels, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Serious Injuries, but it's a close thing, furious vengeance, righteous anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scherryzade/pseuds/sourassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dís has returned to Erebor to find her sons broken on the mountain her brother now rules, and Thorin finds he cannot stand against her when she demands recompense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mother's Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme - or rather, two prompts, one in which [Dís kicks Thorin's ass](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=3157691#t3157691), and one in which [she is more forgiving](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=3413179#t3413179). You can judge for yourself which prompt this fits better...
> 
> Originally posted [here]().

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has dreaded this day since he woke from fevered dreams after the battle.

He knows what is coming. He has dreaded this day since he woke from fevered dreams after the battle.

With every party to arrive from the Blue Mountains, he has steeled himself for her arrival, and every time he has shamed himself with the relief he feels when his sister is not among them.

Even now, he is not ready to face his sister's anger.

It is over a year since they reclaimed Erebor, and their strength has much returned, but none of them will lead their people into battle again. The Line of Durin is unbroken, but the Sons of Durin are not whole.

He cannot bring himself to look at Fíli's ruined face. He wishes he could stop up his ears when he hears Kíli's once quick tongue stumble.

And when his sister comes to him, demanding recompense, it takes all his strength to face her.

She comes to him in the ruins of the great hall, and her anger blazes bright. He has always loved her for the molten steel of her wrath, and he is almost moved to smile as she approaches.

But she is already cursing his name.

"Leave us," he says, and his attendants turn to leave.

"No," she snaps. "I will not have you hide the wrongs you have done me. I would have every dwarf in your kingdom know my grievance. It is my right."

The dwarves around him hesitate, and Thorin can do nothing but nod his assent. She does have the right to be heard - as would any dwarf - much as it pains him to bring so personal a dispute before all his subjects (and while there are but a handful here, he knows it will be whispered throughout the mountain before nightfall). He steps away from them, but it makes no difference - despite her anger, her voice is steady and clear.

The anger in her eyes is so fierce that for a brief moment he thinks she will forgo words and simply thrash him soundly, there in front of their grandfather's throne.

He holds out his hand to her in formal supplication. "Sister," he starts, but she holds up her hand to silence him.

"Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, I charge you with breach of contract."

"Breach - what contract, sister?"

"I bade you take care of my sons, and you broke them on the very mountain you now rule."

"Come, Dís, they are well enough," he lies. "Ask them, as they walk with you through our halls. They knew the dangers when they joined me. And my contract was with them, not you," he adds, because that at least is truth.

"There is contract enough in blood between brother and sister for my charge to stand. They would not have joined you if they were not my sons."

"And as my sister-sons they gain the greater part of our rewards. As my sister, _you_ gain those rewards. Our kingdom is restored, Dís. Mahal knows I would have them whole and hale, but they are here -" He has nightly woken screaming from dreams where they are not, but he cannot tell her that. "Is that not enough, sister?"

"No." Her rage is cool and considered now, and cuts to the pit of his stomach.

"What would you have me do? I cannot turn back time. Do you wish reparation for your broken contract? My gold is yours. The richest veins of ore beneath our city, yours. Ask." She does not. "Tell me what you want from me, sister," he says, as gently as he is able.

"Nothing." She bows to him. "The contract between us is broken. You have your part, and now I will take mine."

"What, sister," he starts to ask, but she cuts him off.

"I am not your sister," she says, and he stares at her, uncomprehending. "And my sons are not your heirs."

"Dís!" She cannot mean it, he thinks. "You cannot -"

"I can. I will. I disown you - disown myself, if you prefer. Our mother was unfaithful to your father, and I and my sons are not of the House of Durin -"

"No-one will believe such lies."

"No? And who will contradict me? She confessed to me on her deathbed, and who are you to question such a covenant? She confessed that she laid with many dwarves-"

"Dís, stop," he pleads. "Do not do this, I beg you." He kneels before her, stricken. "Take anything from me, Dís. Anything but them. I - I acknowledge the breach of contract, I will do so in front of all our people, and give myself up to your mercy. Strike me down, brand my skin, cut - cut my hair - I will walk the city in rags, my beard shorn, if you ask it." He holds his hand out to her again, formality gone, but she is beyond his reach. "Anything you ask of me, I will give."

"Will you give me the Arkenstone? I know you have it, though you have not returned it to its rightful place -" She gestures to the throne. Thorin does not look.

"No," he says, without thought. 

She moves to strike him, and though he means to abase himself before her, instinct makes him catch her arm before the blow hits. The second blow comes from the left, so he cannot stop it, and for a moment the world reels, the only steady point his hand on her arm.

She shakes him off, and he has to lean on the floor to keep his balance. He looks up, and sees the anger in her eyes has shifted into something unreadable. The fear gathering in his stomach turns to horror at the sight. 

"No, Dís, no, I only meant - I cannot give you the Arkenstone, because the wretched thing is accursed." His voice breaks like a child's on the word, and he has to will it steady before he can continue. He fumbles with the circlet on his brow, his hand shaking as he holds it out to her. "But I give you my kingdom, for it was bought with their blood, and is yours by right of conquest and birth, Daughter of Durin. Only do not take them from me, sister, please." His voice flies apart again, twisting in his throat, and he is left gasping for breath.

She does not touch the crown.


	2. A Sister's Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her boys greet her with smiles and open arms, and she smiles in turn, pulls them close, and in her heart she is screaming.

Her boys greet her with smiles and open arms, and she smiles in turn, pulls them close, and in her heart she is screaming. Because Kíli runs to her through the crowd, but her firstborn walks with too much care. Because Fíli bears the finest swords from the new forges of Erebor, but her baby boy no longer carries his bow. Because Fíli will say nothing to her but platitudes, and Kíli's words trip and falter on his tongue. Because their scars -

She should be content to have them in her arms. She should be happy they are alive. But Dís sees the great city her brother is rebuilding, hears her sons describe with pride the work his subjects undertake, and she feels nothing but rage that Thorin has everything he ever wanted, and all she has is the broken pieces of her little boys.

When she goes to him, and finds him in the great hall of their forefathers, he is not seated on the throne, and instead of their grandfather's crown he wears a plain gold circlet, and she almost spits on him. As if he is _humble_.

And even now she would forgive him, would let him keep her sons as his, if only he understood. If only he understood what he had taken from them, from her. But he offers her recompense, as if there is any payment can be made for the hurt done to her children.

She can see panic in his eyes when he realises she is serious. But he does not understand that the loss of his heirs is nothing to the hurt done to her sons, does not understand that there is no formal penance he can undertake that means anything to Dís, not when her sons have been shattered so on his mountain.

And when she asks for the one thing that means as much to him as her sons mean to her, he refuses, because he does not understand.

When Dís raises her hand to strike him, she is not surprised that he catches her arm before it strikes him. She still puts all her strength into the second blow, and though Thorin moves as if to counter the blow, she still hits her target.

And then all her anger curdles in her stomach.

She has much of their forefathers' strength, and she knows that Thorin's head will be ringing from the blow. That is not what makes her stumble back in shock. He did not let her strike him - if that were so, the first blow would have hit. He moved with his warrior's instinct to defend himself. 

She pulls away from him, and he falls forward, leaning on his right hand to steady himself. His one hand.

Thorin looks up at her, pleading, and there is none of his pride, no royal arrogance in his eyes. Dís barely hears what he says as he tears off the robes of his high station, leaving himself in a plain linen tunic of royal blue, the left sleeve carefully pinned up over the stump of his shield arm.

She was not told -

His fingers fumble with the gold circlet, and when he holds it out to her, Dís means to press it back to him, but she cannot move. 

She was not _told_ -

He drops his hand, and places the crown at her feet.

Before she can speak - she cannot speak, not even to take back the words that flowed so easily just moments ago - she hears hesitant footsteps approach.

"Mama?" Kíli reaches them first, hovers between them uncertainly, gaze flickering between her and Thorin before lighting on the crown. "Mama, what-"

"Mother," says Fíli, and she should not be shocked by the censorious tone - her eldest has always known his place as Thorin's heir - but she is. Fíli stands beside Thorin, at his left, his shield -

Pride wars with horror in Dís' breast at the sight.

"Go to your mother, boys," says Thorin. He pushes Kíli towards her, and he goes easily enough, but there's confusion in his eyes. And when Thorin reaches to push Fíli towards her, Fíli doesn't move.

"No, I will not."

She sees Thorin's hand clench where it's caught on Fíli's arm. "Go to her, inù-" He stops, and closes his eyes, and will not look at her.

Kíli's attention is still caught by the crown, and he reaches a gentle hand to touch hers. "Do you not like it, Mama? Our gr- gr-" He shakes his head. "Thror's crown was lost, and we-"

Fíli gives a bitter little laugh. "It's not about the crown, Kíli."

Kíli snaps his head back to his brother with a frown, and makes a quick series of gestures that she can't interpret. Fíli scowls back, signing an emphatic reply. It's not the iglishmek they learnt in Ered Luin, and as they argue - for it can only be an argument - she realises they're signing with one hand.

"Kíli," she says, and he turns back to her, his expression guarded. "Tell me about the crown."

He stoops to pick up the crown, turning it over in his hands. "It was forged from the first ore mined when -" he says in a rush, and stops. She doesn't know if she should prompt him to continue - doesn't know if he meant to stop. And then he looks to where his brother tends to their uncle, and when he turns back, he only presses the circle of gold into her hands and steps away.

She hears Fíli mutter, "Stand, Uncle, please," as he bends to pull Thorin's robes around his shoulders once more, but Thorin does not move. Fíli turns to her, and for a moment his expression holds such anger that her breath is taken from her. But then he seems to catch the anger in himself, and his expression breaks, and he looks entirely lost, and Dís wants to hate her brother for it but she knows that she is the one who marred Fíli's face so, just as surely as Thorin put the scar upon it.

Fíli collects himself, and holds her gaze as he kneels beside Thorin, slow and deliberate. His hand is still fisted in the fur at Thorin's shoulder, as if to keep him from falling further. "Kíli," he says, in a chiding tone, and Kíli is quick to join them, kneeling at Thorin's right.

Kíli is quick and incautious, and Thorin's hand goes up to steady him without a thought. Kíli is quick to smile in thanks, and Thorin smiles in answer, as unable to remain somber in Kíli's presence as he ever was. 

His name is pulled unbidden from Dís' lips, ragged and painful to her own ears. Thorin's smile, small and soft and sweet as she remembers it, is gone by the time he looks at her.

The crown is suddenly light in her hands, and she tightens her grip on it for fear it will fly away from her. For fear she will fling it into the depths below them. Kíli's gaze still flits between them, stopping on the crown and then jittering away to his brother. Fíli looks only at the crown, following the way her hands work at it restlessly. And Thorin -

Thorin does not look at the crown at all.

She holds it up in front of him, knowing herself to be cruel as she does it. "So this is the new crown of the new King Under the Mountain," she says. "Who forged it?"

"Dain," says Kíli, and Dís is so taken aback she almost drops it.

"Dain? Our cousin?" she asks. Her consternation prompts Kíli's smile to return full force as he nods. 

"And grumbled all the while. We would have made it ourselves, but..." Kíli holds out a hand so that she can see the tremor in it. "And Fíli couldn't hit an anvil straight even when he had two good eyes," he adds.

Fíli makes an annoyed sound that is almost a laugh, but Thorin -

Thorin gasps for breath and says, "Dís, Dís," and reaches for her. Says, "Dís, I'm sorry," and plucks at her skirts, but does not pull her forward. "I am so sorry," he says, as Fíli says "Mama, please," and Kíli says nothing at all.

It is only a step, but it seems further than the distance from Ered Luin to Erebor. Her feet are lead, her feet are stone, rooted in the mountain. But she does step forward, and pulls her brother close, and she is glad then for feet of stone, because she needs the strength of the mountain to stay steady as he is wracked with sobs.

She was mistaken in her wrath. Oh, she is still angry - it still burns within her like molten iron - but she sees now it is not only her sons who have been broken against the mountain, and she wonders where her anger can go, wonders if she can sustain it against the very rocks whose strength she now borrows.

She wonders now what else has not been said, in all the grandly worded missives that spoke of the great battle and her brother's quest before it. What has passed that her brother should now call cursed the stone they once knew as the heart of the mountain. 

Thorin's breathing eases, and when he pulls away from her, she lets him go, but not so far. She tips his face up so he meets her gaze, and schools her expression to be calm. "Dís," he says, voice still ragged. 

"Thorin," she says. "King Under the Mountain." She sets the gold circlet upon Thorin's head, and catches his hand when he threatens to tear it off once more.

"I am no king," he says, and keeps his gaze steady on hers when he says it. "Only your brother, if you will it."

"You are my brother," she says, her hand cupping his cheek, and she feels the warmth of his breath on her wrist. "You are my brother and my king," she says, louder, for the benefit of the crowd of attendants watching them with wide eyes. "Namadizu, Melhekhuh, ra zu nadaduh." She takes a breath. "Inùdôyuh zu."

She bends, then, to whisper in Thorin's ear. "Izdnul ma," she says, and he flinches away from her. She squeezes his hand, willing him to understand. "Inùdôyizu." 

He nods shakily. "Izd inùdôymâ," he says, and only then does she press her brow to his.

"What -" says Kíli at her left, hesitant. "We're - his, but not his? I don't -" he stops, his frustration clear.

"We're not _his," says Fíli before Dís can reply. "We're his sons. More than his heirs."

"Our sons," says Thorin.

"Truly?" says Kíli.

"Well, not literally," drawls Fíli, and Dís tweaks his ear with her free hand. He yelps, and retaliates by hugging her so tightly he tips her off her feet. She bats at him, and Fíli relents, and if she lands in an ungraceful sprawl, it is worth the indignity to hear Kíli laugh, and see her brother smile.

She does not let Fíli go, but pulls his brother to her in turn, and they wrap themselves around her, whispering "Mama" and "Amad" and "We missed you" so softly she cannot tell them apart. She presses kisses into their hair, and holds out her hand to Thorin again.

"You must tell me how all this came to pass," she says, softly, and runs a soothing hand through Fíli's hair when he tenses at her words.

"It is not a story I know how to tell," says Thorin, a frank humility in his eyes that she can barely reconcile with the brother she once knew.

"No," says Dís. "But you must tell me all the same," she says, and pulls him close once more, and closes her eyes against her tears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Khuzdul is taken from the very excellent resources created by the Dwarrow Scholar, but I'm not remotely a linguist, so any and all errors are my fault.
> 
> When Thorin says "...inù--", he is starting to say 'inùdoy' - son.
> 
> "Namadizu, Melhekhuh, ra zu nadaduh." - I am your sister, my king, and you are my brother. / "Inùdôyuh zu." - My sons are yours. (I intended this as a very formal, binding statement on Dis' part - she says in front of the throne, in front of witnesses, and would have a hard time taking it back. And being spoken in Khuzdul, it has more power than all of her earlier accusations.)
> 
> "Izdnul ma," - They are not yours [your property] / "Inùdôyizu." - Your sons. (This came out the Dwarrow Scholar having two forms of possessive pronouns for 'your': -nul is for property, including children, -izu is for everything else. I have no idea if I'm interpreting this correctly, but I liked the idea that Dis is misusing Khuzdul grammar to make a point - that her sons are not Thorin's to do what he will with, but they are his sons)
> 
> "Izd inùdôymâ," - They are our sons. 
> 
> As I say, there's a good chance this is all wildly inaccurate - I have real problems trying to get my head round a language that doesn't have the verb 'to be'.
> 
>  
> 
> Other things: Yes, I'm evil, and caused Thorin to lose his shield arm (his left, so he basically has the same injury he inflicted on Azog). The right side of Fili's face is badly injured, and he's lost the sight in that eye. Kili is suffering from NCHT - Narratively Convenient Head Trauma - his symptoms are partly from his injuries and partly from his PTSD. 
> 
> They're all suffering from PTSD - it's part of my rationale for having Dain still be around to forge Thorin's crown - he and the rest of the company, and to a lesser degree the dwarves involved in rebuilding Erebor, know that Thorin is on very thin ice, mentally, but don't necessarily have any way to deal with it, other than to spread the strain as much as possible. For Fili and Kili, it's my headcanon that Kili is more obviously affected, but more likely to have a chance to recover because of it, whereas Fili is more concerned with staying strong for his brother and his uncle than his own wellbeing, and therefore is more likely to succumb to it at a later date. 
> 
> ...aren't you glad I shared that?


End file.
